D. G. Sexton

Geoff topped up his mug with coffee. He took a sip. Scratched his head. And stubble. He shut the laptop and lit a cigarette. Looked around at his flat. Everything with a flat surface was covered in a layer of dust or ash. The kitchen’s laminated floor stuck to your feet with every step; the living room was littered with empty cans, packets, wrappers, and pizza boxes. Geoff took a long drag on his cigarette. Picked up the packet: ‘TOBACCO USE CAN MAKE YOU IMPOTENT – Cigarettes may cause sexual impotence due to decreased blood flow to the penis. This can prevent you from having an erection.’ He sighed out a stream of smoke. Looked down at his vest and pants. “Fuck. This. Shit.” He put out the cigarette. Stood up. Put on the radio.

“…listen, there just aren’t the resources to deal with the amount of immigr…”

Geoff changed the station. He was lucky enough to own a digital radio with the capability to listen to any ‘radio’ station streaming on the internet at that time. Anywhere in the world. Geoff went for a Californian station. Looked out at grey and weary Tyne and Wear. Sunshine pop played.

Skip forward. Geoff is dressed. Vacuuming. Fuzzy, dreamy, delay-driven surf rock plays. The surfaces are spotless, there isn’t a beer can or pizza box in sight. The flat sparkles and shines. Geoff turns off the hoover, smiles. “Mother. Fucking. Dyson.”